168 Hours
by Brilliant Brunette Beauty
Summary: When Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are kidnapped, Bruce is given a chilling message - find them in a week's time or he won't find them at all. But can the boys even survive their week in captivity? *Rated T for some violence and mature themes*
1. Dick

**A/N: I've had this idea for a while and when I saw that there weren't any fanfics already written for it, I thought I might as well be the one to write it. Enjoy!**

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><p>Darkness.<p>

Darkness as far as the eye can see – or, rather, _can't _see.

In this moment, that's all Dick Grayson knows.

When his eyes flutter open, he's surrounded by darkness that seems never ending, yet he feels claustrophobic. Like he can sense that whatever room he's in, it's small. Even though he can't see the walls, he can practically feel them closing in on him.

And for just a small moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Dick reaches his cuff bound hands up shakily, threading one through his sweat-soaked hair as he tries to control his breathing to keep from passing out. His head pounds like someone's taking a hammer to it. His back itches from being propped up against what feels to be a scratchy brick wall. His legs are bound and heavy like lead. _Everything _is heavy.

Where the hell is he?

He searches through his memories, trying to grab onto the last lucid thought he can find.

He knows he was on patrol. He knows he was cutting through an alley to save time. He knows he felt something fly by and prick him on the neck – soft, barely there, like a bug biting him before flying away.

Then, all he knows is darkness.

He's been taken.

_That _he's sure of.

How did this happen to him? He's always careful on patrol, always smart. He should have sensed whoever was shooting that dart filled with sedative. He should have been able dodge. Whoever got the better of him that quickly must be good.

_Scary _good.

He doesn't know how long he's been out, all he knows is that he feels groggy, as if he's been sleeping for a thousand years. He must have been out for a while. And Dick has seen enough statistics in his twenty-seven years of life to know that most abductors kill their victims within the first 24 hours. Time is of the essence. So, he pushes all thoughts of panic aside and focuses on something else. He thinks of his brothers. He thinks of Babs. He thinks of Bruce. Whatever can distract him and help motivate him to come up with a reason to get out of this.

Has Bruce noticed he's missing yet? Has Damian? Tim? Or have they just assumed he doesn't want to talk to them? Oh god, what if they never notice he's gone? What if he dies alone in this little room?

Once again, he has to steady his breathing so he doesn't go into a full-blown panic attack. He's usually more composed in these situations. That sedative must have done a number on him.

Out of instinct, he kicks his legs out, as if to escape the tight binds. Logically, he knows he's not going to escape. He's bound too tightly. But it's worth a shot, right?

He retracts his feet the second he feels them come into contact with something soft, like human flesh.

Then comes the pained groan.

Someone is in here with him.

"Fuck…" the voice hisses, heavy with sleep. Even though the tone is twisted, Dick swears he recognizes the voice… It's so obvious.

Jason.

Dick's heart sinks as soon as he identifies the body in here with him. _No_. Not his little brother. Anyone but him.

He knows Jason is not a poor fragile creature in the least – hell, he pities their captors if Jason gets loose – but he's one of the _last _people Dick wants to see stuck in this position. Even if it lowers his chances of escape, he'd rather be stuck here alone than be stuck here with his brother. Because if something happens to him, that's terrible, but if something happens to _Jason…_

He'd rather die than allow that to happen. He _won't _allow that to happen. Over his dead body. Whoever has them has to go through him first. And he'll put up one hell of a fight.

"Little Wing?" Dick rasps out, his voice scratchy like sandpaper. God, it stings. When did he last have something to drink? It feels like it was a lifetime ago. He doesn't even know how long he's been unconscious. For all he knows, his last drink could have been days ago.

There's a brief moment of silence that fills the stuffy room before Jason finally whispers,

"Grayson? They got to you too?"

Dick nods frantically, even though Jason can't see him in the dark room. He's just relieved Jason's unharmed.

"Yeah, they did. Whoever _they _are. Let me guess; you were on patrol when a dart flew past you and pricked you on the neck?"

Jason grumbles back, "Yeah, that about sums it up. I didn't even notice anyone. They just –,"

"Came out of nowhere?" Dick finishes for him. Jason lets out of a heavy sigh, and even though Dick can't see him, he's sure that he's running a hand through his hair. A habit of his.

"Spot on, Golden Boy. Whoever got us definitely wasn't working –,"

"_Ow!_" a sudden, loud voice interrupts. Dick jumps in his spot, steadying himself against the wall with his bound hands, as if ready for an attack even though he has no way of defending himself. His protectiveness over his brother spurs him on. He'd die before he'd let someone touch Jason.

"Who kicked me?" the same, familiar groggy voice speaks up. Dick resists the urge to scream.

_Tim._

They took Tim too. Now Dick has _two_ brothers to protect.

"Timmy?" Dick speaks up. "Timmy, it's me. Are you okay?"

Tim groans softly, his voice farther away than Jason's. He must be on the opposite side of the room, while Jason is in the middle of the two. Just from this information, Dick guesses that the room can't be that large. Not closet size, but it's not exactly a full room.

"My head is pounding and someone just kicked me in the side pretty hard, but I've had worse," Tim answers, sounding as groggy and distracted as Jason did when he woke up. "Where _are _we?"

"We don't know, little bird," Dick answers in a comforting, mother hen like tone. "But I promise, I'll get you out of this. Don't you –,"

"Hold up," Jason interrupts suddenly.

"Jason? Is that you? I didn't know –,"

"I didn't kick you, and Dick didn't kick you… So who the hell else is here?"

"_Me, you imbecile._"

Dick shuts his eyes in frustration, silently simmering in anger. The bastards took Damian too. They somehow managed to take him right out from under Bruce's nose. On patrol too, if these kidnappers stick to a pattern. His ten year old baby brother. They probably took his utility belt and boots too. How is he going to defend himself? Dick resists the urge to growl. If he ever gets his hands on their captors, they're going to regret ever laying eyes on the Bat Family.

"Now is _not _the time to give us attitude, demon brat," Tim spits. Dick rolls his eyes. Great. That's just what they need right now. A fight.

Aren't they supposed to be pulling together now, not apart?

"It's not my fault you managed to get yourself kidnapped, Drake!" Damian shoots back, his tone dripping with anger. "Don't blame _me_!"

"Would you two please _shut the hell up_?" Jason growls. "You're not helping our –,"

Without warning, the darkness is lifted. Sterile white overhead lights switch on, flooding the room with blinding white light, like a doctor's office. Dick's eyes burn from the sudden change, prompting him to look down and blink rapidly as his vison tries to adjust to the change in lighting.

"_I see you boys are finally up. It's been quite some time."_

Dick freezes.

The voice came from above. There must be an intercom system in the room. They're hearing the voice of their captor.

Or the voice of _one _of their captors.

Dick's eyes finally adjust enough to take a look around at his brothers. Thankfully, none of them are that injured beyond a few bruises marring their skin. Their looks are haggard, though nothing that could be cause for too much concern. But just as he suspected, all of them are weaponless, beltless, and shoeless. Not many captors are smart enough to take their shoes. This one went to extra lengths.

That's a bad sign already.

As for the room, it's relatively what Dick expected. Not too large, but not too small. It's entirely bare; the floor is white tile and the walls are plain white drywall, not brick like Dick originally thought. But Dick notices one peculiar thing.

There is not door.

Only a dumbwaiter on one of the walls.

"What do you bastards want?!" Jason screams up to the ceiling, enraged. Damian glares at him, as if willing him to shut up before he gets them into even more trouble.

"_Oh, a million dollars, peace on earth, the end of world hunger. You know, the usual."_

Whoever's talking to them is using a voice modifier. That Dick is sure of. No one has a voice that deep. But with or without a voice modifier, sarcasm gushes from his tone.

"Why are we here?" Tim asks, much more calm than Jason was.

"_You'll see, Little Bird. Oh, you will see."_

Dick growls, unable to stop himself. The man who took him and his brothers using _his _nickname for Tim in that sickeningly sweet tone makes his stomach turn over. He can't explain it, but there's something deviant about that man – something besides the obvious.

"Let my brothers _go_," Dick hisses up at the intercom. "I don't care what you do with me. Just don't hurt them."

"_Nightwing, Nightwing, Nightwing…" _the man scolds in a teasing tone that makes Dick want to vomit. _"You should know better than that. I'm well aware that this isn't your first rodeo. But, I can promise you, it will be the most interesting. For all of you."_

A cold, cruel laugh rings out. One that shakes Dick to his very core. From the look on his brothers' faces, it freaks them out too. It sound evil.

Demonic.

They're dealing with a psychopath. No doubt.

"_Enjoy the next week, boys, because it may very well be your last."_

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><p><strong>AN: I'll be switching up POVs in every chapter. Some will be in Dick's POV, some will be in Jason's, some in Damian's, Tim's, etc. Also, if I made any spelling or grammar errors, I'm terribly sorry. I don't usually do that. I finished this at 2am, so there's bound to be a few.**

**I hope you enjoyed and please tell me what you think! :)**


	2. Damian

**A/N: Thank you all for the feedback! I'm surprised you took to this so quickly. Thank you so much!**

**So, this chapter is in Damian's POV and though nothing too bad happens, I feel like I should put up a trigger warning for some of the things that are implied - even though they're not really _heavily _implied.**

**Basically, this whole story should have a trigger warning.**

**With that being said, enjoy the story.**

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><p>Damian sulks in the corner, simmering in anger as his brothers – if he can even call them that – all lean against their respective walls, their heads leaned to the side in defeat. He can see the sweat lining Drake's forehead, the nervous darting of Grayson's eyes, the look of pure murder still set on Todd's face, and the bruises that have blossomed on all their necks. Damian's sure that it's on his neck too.<p>

He scowls at the thought. How _any one _managed to get the better of him, he's not sure of. He's always been too good for that, too talented to be caught in this situation. He understands how the others could have been kidnapped – they've always been sloppy, in no way on his level of expertise.

Especially Drake. It's really no surprise Drake is here.

Damian doesn't remember much. He remembers he and Father were on patrol. Nothing was out of the ordinary. There was a hostage situation and the two got temporarily separated for a reason Damian doesn't even remember. Father probably told him to stay behind, totally against sending him into the scene. A few minutes later, Damian somehow ended up at the back of the building, most likely disobeying his father's orders. Batman may not have known it, but he needed Robin's help, and Damian wasn't just about to let his father's stubbornness stop him from helping him.

Then he felt something fly past and prick his neck, just slightly. So slight he thought nothing of it. Until blackness took over. It happened so fast, he didn't have time to think. One minute everything was normal and the next, he was conked out. Then he woke up here, groggy and sore and surrounded by these bumbling idiots.

That's just wonderful. They're bound to lower his chances of escape. He can't exactly just leave them here if he does get the chance to run. They may not be much, but the mean _something _to him.

Damn family loyalty.

But without a utility belt, gloves, or even his shoes, he doesn't have much in terms of defending himself. He doesn't even have a way of untying the binds on his wrists or ankles. He already checked; his hidden knives are all gone. Even the ones no other kidnappers he's ever faced have managed to find. These men must have patted him down thoroughly.

The thought makes his scowl deepen. It feels like a violation somehow. He hates the thought of those scumbags searching his clothing for hidden weapons – especially considering some of those weapons were hidden _inside _his clothing.

Creeps.

"Do you think they're listening to us?" Drake asks, breaking the long standing silence. Damian's eyes dart around the sterile looking white room on instinct. _Are _they listening to everything they say? They already made the fatal mistake of using actual names instead of field names… If they were heard, that could have some devastating results.

"It's probably safest to assume that they are," Grayson suggests. "Either they have this room bugged or they have cameras hidden somewhere. Either way, they could tell when we all woke up. There's _some _sort of device in here."

Damian looks around, hoping that if there are cameras in here, they catch his glare. He _wants _them to know that he's pissed. He wants them to know he's not scared of them. He hopes they see the silent threat in his eyes. He _will _take them down. Whether that's tomorrow or in a week from now, they're going to wish they were never born. That he's sure of.

"How will we make any tactical plans knowing they're probably listening to every word we say?" Drake asks.

"Well, we can't," Grayson answers. "They've already taken too many precautions _not _to bug the room. There's a 90% chance that they're listening to everything we say. We can't formulate a plan out loud without them hearing us and finding out how we work, and at that point, they already have the advantage."

"So what you're saying is, we're basically screwed," Todd supplies for him. Damian glares at him. He's given up _already_? Pathetic. Damian refuses to give up until he's taking his last dying breath. And even then, he'll be fighting tooth and nail.

"Don't be so quick to give in, Hood," Damian snaps. "We _will _find a way out of this. Somehow. We have a week to put our heads together, and no matter how thick yours is, I'm sure we can squeeze _some _valid ideas out of it."

Todd glares back at him in return.

"Gee, thanks kid. I'm so flattered."

In his peripheral vision, Damian sees Drake rolling his eyes, a grin on his lips.

"I'm sure if they _are _listening to us, they're very entertained," he jokes half-heartedly. Grayson lets out a half-laugh of sorts that sounds like it could be a snort. Maybe it's the dehydration making him loopy, or maybe he's just slap-happy, but Damian finds himself grinning a tiny bit too.

"_Yes, you are correct about that. You four are better than television."_

The grin dies just as quickly as it was born.

"Bastards!" Damian barks.

"_Tsk, tsk," _the distorted voice teases, making Damian grit his teeth in anger. He hates nothing more than being scolded like a child. _"Such harsh language for a child. Do we have to wash your mouth out with soap, Baby Bat?"_

Damian can see Grayson clenching his jaw in anger as soon as 'Baby Bat' is projected over the intercom. It's not much of a surprise. In fact, Damian briefly questions if their captor said that just to get to Grayson. For some reason he's never been able to fathom, Grayson is heavily protective over him. From some of the things their captor has said already said, it's like he can already tell that.

"Go to hell," Damian snaps.

The voice only laughs coldly.

"_Oh Baby Bat, you're one to talk with all those kills under your belt."_

How did he…?

Damian's tries to wipe the look of shock off his face. His assassin background is not common knowledge to the public or any enemies to the Bat Family. _No one _should know. So for this man to know his past…

Could he possibly be tied to the League of Assassins?

No, that's impossible. This isn't their usual MO.

Todd seems to scoot closer to him, as if subconsciously protecting him against the man speaking to them. His expression is as dumbfounded as Damian's.

"You must not have done your homework," Todd speaks to the ceiling. "_I'm _the one who kills in this family. Bats would never let his Robin break the golden rule."

'_Except he has,' _Damian corrects mentally. He killed NoBody while he was Robin, which none of them have been informed about. Otherwise, he's been on the straight and narrow. But the man didn't say 'kill'. He said 'kills'. There's no doubt in his mind that this man knows his real identity.

And if he knows his, that must mean he knows everyone's.

Psychopaths have this annoying tendency to be overly intelligent.

"_Playing innocent will do you no good, Red," _the voice taunts. _"I know the boy is a cold-blooded killing machine. I admire his work, really. He's a truly talented little boy. I would _love _to see him in action."_

Something about his tone makes Damian shudder. He can't really explain it – the man just sounds way too excited. He can see that Grayson noticed it too. His jaw is set, his shoulders squared like he's prepared to lash out, and his eyes aflame. Hell, even Todd and Drake look unsettled by the way the man was talking about him. It's like they know something Damian doesn't…

What the hell did they notice that he didn't?

"You stay away from him," Grayson hisses, malice evident in his tone. Damian's taken aback. He's never heard Grayson talk that way, even to the criminals he fights.

Todd squirms around in his binds, glaring up at the ceiling like if he gazes long enough, it will burst into flames.

"When I get out of here, you're gonna see _me _in action," Todd promises. "Lay one hand on any of them and you're dead."

"_Oh, so if I _don't _touch your brothers, you'll spare me?" _the voice teases. _"How merciful of you."_

Todd clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing. Damian swears he can see him shaking in anger.

"Let me rephrase that," he grounds out. "Touch any of them and I'll make your death nice and slow. I'll draw it out as long as possible until you beg for me to put a bullet in your brain."

'_Not if I beat you to it,' _Damian thinks.

"_Keep dreaming, Hood," _the man scoffs, sounding terribly unimpressed with Todd's threat. _"You're not in the position to be threatening me. I can kill you with the snap of my fingers. All I have to do is tell one of my men to pull the trigger on that sniper I have pointed at your temple and BAM – your brains will add some much needed color to the drab walls."_

It's like four sharp inhales of breath happen simultaneously.

Damian doesn't want to believe him. He sees no possible way a sniper could have Todd in his scope. There are no windows or doors in the room. The only thing there is a dumbwaiter. Albeit a very large dumbwaiter that could probably fit a grown man.

But it's hard not to believe him when he's repeatedly proved to be one step ahead of them.

"You're bluffing," Todd insists, his eyes darting around the room analytically.

The man chuckles softly, as if he's talking to a child. Damian scowls. He hates the condescending criminals most of all.

"_Am I?" _he asks jokingly. _"Take a look around you. Do you see the holes in each wall?"_

Each of them scans the room, eyes darting from wall to wall. Sure enough, there's a small, brush-handle sized hole poked in each piece of drywall. How he didn't notice this before, Damian isn't sure. He feels like smacking himself for not being as observant as he should have been. Drake, Todd, and even Grayson make stupid mistakes like that. _He _doesn't.

"_Currently, I have three snipers pointed at the Hood, Little Bird, and the Golden Boy."_

Damian narrows his eyes in suspicion. If he doesn't have a sniper waiting for him, there _has _to be a reason. The kidnapper hasn't played all his cards yet.

"_Even if you move, the bullets are bound to ricochet off the tile floor and with a room that size, I wouldn't want to take my chances with where it was going to hit."_

Grayson moves in front of Todd almost automatically, trying in vain to shield his brother from the oncoming attack. Damian resists the urge to snort.

Stupid family loyalty.

"What do you _want_?" Grayson growls.

"_Simple," _the man answers.

"_I want the Baby Bat."_

Damian's breath catches in his throat, his legs seizing up automatically.

It makes sense all of the sudden. Of course their kidnapper wouldn't kill the hostages they took the time and effort to catch and restrain. Grayson, Todd, and Drake aren't the targets here.

He is.

"Why?" Drake asks. Damian briefly wonders why Drake even cares. But logically, he knows.

Drake has always bought more into Grayson's 'we're all a family' spiel than Damian has.

"_Because that's just the mood I'm in today," _he replies snappily. _"Make your choice, Baby Bat. Either crawl your way inside that dumbwaiter or your brothers will pay the price."_

"Don't do it!" Grayson insists, trying to scoot his way over to Damian, intending to stop him. He's more willing to get a bullet in his brain than to let Damian be taken away from him.

For a brief second, Damian tried to imagine Grayson with a bullet hole through his head. He tries to imagine those bright blue eyes glazed over and unseeing, his body stiff and cold, a pool of blood forming around him.

The image makes him shudder.

Even when he replaces Grayson's image with that of Todd or Drake, the result is the same. The thought of them dead – because of _him_ – shakes him to his core.

He's never considered them his brothers, except maybe Grayson. _Maybe_. Even then, he doesn't want them dead. Not even Drake. Well, not anymore. He's been working on that.

Every fiber of his being screams at him _not _to get in that dumbwaiter. It's suicide. Whatever they plan on doing to him, it won't be pleasant. That's a given. But at the same time, he wants to get in that dumbwaiter. He _needs _to. If it spares Grayson, Todd, and Drake a bullet to the head, then it's worth it.

It's what they would do for him.

With that thought spurring him on, Damian braces himself against the wall, standing up and full height and pushing himself backwards into the dumbwaiter.

Grayson tries to lunge for him, but he's not quick enough.

Damian is plunged into darkness as the dumbwaiter races upwards.

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><p><strong>AN: I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Please tell me what you think! :)**


	3. Bruce

**A/N: I finally got around to updating! Yay!**

**So, this chapter is from Bruce's POV, and I feel like I should put a small warning on it, sooo...**

**WARNING: CONTAINS MENTIONS OF TORTURE**

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><p><em>144 hours<em>

24 hours.

Bruce hasn't seen his sons in 24 whole hours.

1,440 minutes.

86,400 seconds.

No matter how he states it, it seems like a lifetime to him.

24 grueling hours of torture, not knowing where his sons are or even if they're still alive. It's eating at him. The circumstances of this case are unusual. He's never encountered anything like it before. And he can't separate himself from this case like he does with most other cases. He isn't looking at this as Batman, the vigilante who's just doing his job. He's looking at this as Bruce Wayne, the father who desperately wants his sons back.

He vaguely remembers one time hearing someone describe that feeling a parent gets when their child disappears from their sight suddenly; a tightening feeling in their chest, constricting their lungs and making it difficult for them to breathe. It's a feeling that doesn't dissipate until their child is safely back in your sight.

Maybe that's why Bruce has caught himself holding his breath several times today.

And to think, he originally thought all he had to worry about was Damian…

_The two had been on patrol together, observing a hostage situation, when Bruce turned next to him to find the spot his son once stood in empty. Looking around, he saw nothing but the night sky and the empty streets behind him. No sign of the ten year old. Instead of panic, Bruce was filled with annoyance at his stubborn child. He always goes out on his own at some point during patrol, insisting that he doesn't need his father's help, even though he most always does._

_Bruce simply groaned and tried to contact him on the comm, planning out Damian's future punishment for being such a hindrance and taking up his time that should be spent focusing on the hostages. To make matters worse, the comm gave him nothing but static in response._

_Damian had turned off his damn comm._

_What a stupid, bull-headed move._

_Silently cursing the world and his son, Bruce stalked to the back of the building as he heard the blare of the sirens, a tell-tale sign that the GCPD were coming to negotiate with the criminals inside the building to let the hostages out. He knew that he could expedite the process by sneaking in through the roof – if only he could find his Robin first._

_He swore, if that boy had already dropped in on the hostage situation by himself with no cover, he'd be grounded for a goddamn month and kept off patrol for –_

_His thoughts were cut short when he stepped on something that produced an odd crunching sound, almost like a leaf._

_A leaf in the middle of July?_

_Not likely._

_Removing his foot from whatever it was he stepped on, Bruce kneeled down to take a closer look._

_A rose._

_A dead rose, more accurately._

_It was so long dead that it looked nearly black, crunchy and delicate to the touch. His boot had basically obliterated it in its fragile state. Underneath it, something made of gold gleamed in the moonlight, catching Bruce's eye. He brushed the broken petals out of the way and picked up the object in question._

_Damian's Robin pin._

_Time seemed to slow down for a moment. Bruce could feel every heartbeat that echoed off his chest, could hear the sharp intake of breath he took involuntarily. His mind raced with possibilities and statistics, trying to calm himself down._

_The Robin logo was securely pinned on Damian's chest. The only way it would come off is if someone was able to get a good grip on him and rip it off his chest. And if someone was actually able to get a secure grip on the usually untouchable boy…_

_It wouldn't be much of a stretch that they were able to kidnap him._

Bruce runs a shaky hand through his dark, greasy hair, trying to ward off fatigue from days without sleep. The coffee can only do so much to keep him awake and functioning. His body is demanding rest, but he knows what will happen as soon as he closes his eyes; the nightmares will start up. Night horrors filled with images of his sons' bloody corpses and permeated by their tortured screams echoing through the air…

No.

He refuses to doze off again in fear he may actually lose what little grip he still has on his sanity.

A good portion of it left after he discovered the rest of his sons missing, all with the same elaborate set-up left for him to find.

For each, the personal item was different – Dick's was an escrima stick. Jason's was a bullet from his gun. Tim's was his collapsible Bo staff. But with each of them, one thing remained the same.

A dead rose was placed on the object.

That damn rose.

"Sir," Alfred calls from the stairs leading down to the cave. Bruce doesn't turn or give the older man any sign that he's been heard. He's too busy typing away, thoroughly checking in on the whereabouts of all known enemies to the Bat symbol. It's far from complete, but most of their alibies seem to check out. No solid lead has popped up.

They better check out after all the time it took to beat it out of them.

"Master Bruce," Alfred repeats, sounding as tired as Bruce feels. "I insist you eat something. You've already skipped both breakfast and lunch, and you know as well as I that you cannot find the young masters if you drop dead from hunger."

Bruce clenches his fists into tight balls at the reminder of his missing children. He knows logically that he should eat. It would give him the energy boost he's looking for and serve to wake him up more. But his stomach turns over at the thought of food. He can't handle it right now. He's too on edge to eat.

"Later, Alfred," Bruce mumbles. "I'm busy."

Despite not being able to see Alfred's face, Bruce knows that a disapproving frown is being sent his way. He's been on the receiving end of that frown for _years_. Alfred gets on his back about not taking care of himself all the time. In the past day alone, Alfred has reminded him no less than 20 times that he needs to get his act together and take a shower or at least get a small snack. He's been brushed off each time. Bruce has been too busy digging into the case.

Considering most kidnapping victims are killed within the first 24 hours, he has no time to lose. Even if the circumstances are radically different from most kidnapping cases, he's going to treat it the same as he would in any other situation.

"Tell me, sir, are you _really _any closer to finding them?" Alfred asks in frustration. Bruce glares at his computer screen. He wishes more than anything that he could tell Alfred that they're one step closer to getting the boys back, but he would be lying.

"Not exactly," he admits. "I haven't found a solid suspect, but I've been able to eliminate quite a few suspects from the list based on competency alone."

"And how is that?" Alfred asks, his curiosity peaked.

Bruce runs a hand through his hair and turns his chair around, finally facing Alfred.

"The skill it would take to pull off a crime like this…" Bruce trails off, shaking his head. "They were stolen so easily. There were no signs of a struggle, no shouts or noises heard by any passersby, and the setup was precise and seemed to be laid out without haste. Damian was out of my sight for less than 3 minutes and I never saw a thing. He was taken right out from under my nose. Whoever took them obviously knows what he or she is doing. This is someone neat, precise, and highly dangerous. And they were most likely not working alone."

He can already cross some of his enemies off the list based on intelligence and pattern alone. Killer Croc was out in a second. Riddler is smart enough, but this isn't his usual M.O. The Joker would make it messier – more chaotic.

He could be facing the possibility that this was done by someone he doesn't know. A hidden enemy rising from the shadows, finally ready to strike him where it hurts.

A beeping noise emanating from the monitor behind him catches Bruce's attention. He swivels in his chair, turning to face his elaborate computer system set-up. On the main screen, he sees a pop-up flashing bright red in the corner.

That's… strange, to say the least. He doesn't get unwanted pop-ups on his main system. And any form of email is disabled. That's nearly impossible…

He hears Alfred stepping closer to him, probably as confused as he is. Like him, Alfred knows this system inside and out. He knows that this is unusual as well. Something doesn't feel right.

Panic settles in Bruce's chest as he drags the mouse over to click on the pop-up. He has a bad feeling about this. Call it father's intuition, but he _knows _that this has something to do with the kidnapping. It's too convenient for it _not _to be.

The pop-up opens to a live audio file. Ignoring the feeling of dread swelling up inside him, Bruce clicks on the play button, anxiously awaiting what he thinks to be a ransom demand or some other instruction from the kidnapper.

But it's not the kidnapper's voice that greets him.

It's Damian's.

"_N-No…," _his son gurgles, his voice laced with pain.

Bruce freezes up, gripping the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles turn a ghostly white. He hears Alfred's soft, surprised gasp behind him.

It's a tone twisted in agony, but he knows his own son's voice when he hears it. He can hear the urgency in Damian's voice, with an undertone of a sob clinging to it. He sounds like the scared child he is. The sound shakes Bruce to his very core, causing his chest to constrict painfully.

They're torturing his son.

They're _torturing _his _son._

He wants more than anything to shut the audio clip off. The sounds of Damian's agony are like nails in his ears. It hurts. He can't bear to listen to his son in so much pain. He can't _stand_ it.

But he has to.

It's the only lead he's gotten so far. He has to keep listening, no matter how painful it is.

"_P-Please…" _Damian continues, displaying a weakness Bruce has never seen him show before. _"I-I'll cooperate. Please, j-just don't do that… Anything but that…"_

Bruce's fists clench, thinking about what those bastards must be doing to his boy to get him to beg like this. He knows Damian; he's stubborn and proud. He wouldn't beg even if he had a gun pointed to his temple. So what they're doing to him now…

Bruce narrows his eyes. Rage builds in him at the thought of them putting their hands on his boy – _his _boy. He'll rip them apart with his bare hands if they harm him or his other sons in _any _way at all.

"_No! No, p-please d-don't! NO!"_

The audio cuts away just as Damian's loud and agonized scream rings out, and another audio clip is inserted.

"_Recognize the baby bat's voice?" _a disguised voice asks. Bruce clenches his jaw tightly, wishing he could strangle the life out of the man on the audio clip.

"_I'm sure you do," _he continues in a mocking tone. _"And I'm also sure that you're expecting a ransom demand right about now. Well, you'll be disappointed to hear that I have none. I also don't have any clues to leave you. I'm no Riddler, Batsy. I don't _intend _for_ _you to find them. You see, I wanna play a little _game_. If you can manage to find your birdies in a week's time, you get them back. No resistance and no future kidnappings. We'll call it all a big misunderstanding. Scout's honor. But if you fail to find them within the first week of their abduction, I can promise you that you'll never see them again."_

Bruce shudders at the thought. He's dealing with a truly sick, twisted individual. Lord knows what he's doing with his sons already.

"_You already lost 24 hours, old man. 24 hours your little birds no longer have. You better get working, detective. Their lives depend on it."_

With that, the audio clip ends as abruptly as it began and the screen goes black.

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><p><strong>AN: Ahhh, having all this power over your emotions as an author brings me great joy. You have no idea.**

**So, please review and tell me what you thought! I love hearing from you guys. It's the highlight of my day. :)**

**Until next time!**


	4. Tim

**A/N: This update is coming at 3AM, so I'm a bit too tired to write a coherent author's note. All you need to know is that this chapter is from Tim's POV.**

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><p><em>134 hours<em>

Tim leans his head back against the thick drywall, his heavy eyelids drooping fast as he tries to fight off the annoying fatigue that plagues him. He doesn't know how long it has been since he got some actual shut-eye and not a quick, 20 minute or so nap. A day? Two? Three? He wasn't exactly resting _before _he managed to get himself kidnapped. Too much work to be done. If Dick knew how erratic his sleep patterns have been these past few months, he'd no doubt get a firm scolding from his older brother.

But this is not a time to be thinking about sleep.

He has no idea how long ago they took Damian up in the dumbwaiter. The hours seem to have bled together and made time nearly impossible to decipher anymore. For all he knows, a day could have passed already. Maybe two. It's not as if he can just glance to a conveniently placed clock and find out. He's been leaning against this wall for so long that his back muscles have gone way past the stage of tense and are now in a very unpleasant state of numbness.

The air in the bright, white room is permeated by a suffocating silence that Tim can only describe as deafening. No one has said anything since Damian left, besides the loud curse that was shouted by Jason the second the dumbwaiter disappeared from sight. As soon as their youngest brother was gone, Dick just slumped against the wall in defeat, his shoulders sagging and a defeated moan escaping his lips. The expression on his face was anguished, like he had just made the worst possible mistake in the world. All Tim could do was sit by while his older brother blamed wallowed in his self-perceived failure.

Jason, on the other hand, has completely shunned emotion. After his initial angry outburst, he sat down on the opposite side of the room, his face hard and emotionless like a stone statue, his posture rigid. He's barely moved a muscle since then. It's clear to Tim that both Dick and Jason dealing with this in their own way.

As for him?

He doesn't know how he's dealing with it.

He's barely processing this. Kidnappings, he's used to. He was kidnapped so much as Robin that Bruce once threatened to put a bell around his neck so he'd be easier to find. Those kidnapping never really got anywhere, as Bruce would swoop in and save him within less than a day or he'd manage to find a way out himself by taking advantage of the lesser intelligence of his captors. None of his kidnappings have ever been this serious.

None have ever been this… _terrifying_.

Though his pride prevents him from admitting it, Tim is scared. Extrememly scared, actually. He's more scared than he's been in quite some time, and that's saying something, considering how reckless he's been on missions lately.

Another thing Dick will probably scold him about when he finds about it. It seems no one in his rag-tag family ever approves of his actions.

To be fair, he doesn't think he's been _too _reckless on missions. After all, he's still alive and has yet to suffer any major wounds. He's had a few close calls recently, but he's managed to slip his way out of them all.

Well, all except this one, that is.

He leans his head back further against the wall, shutting his eyes tightly. Maybe he was too reckless. Maybe it was his own incompetence that got him stuck here. Maybe this will finally be the end of him.

He runs a hand through his thick black hair, breathing in and out deeply as he tries to calm himself. He's been prone to panic attacks since his teens, right after his father died, and has become better at preventing them since then. Breathing exercises in particular calm his nerves and keep him from becoming a hyperventilating mess.

He'd never let his brothers see him like that. He dreads the thought of _anyone _seeing him in such a weak state.

So, Tim shuts the world off for just a few moments and focuses on his breathing.

_In for 4 seconds…_

_Hold for 7 seconds…_

_Out for 8 seconds…_

_Repeat…_

The loud clanking of the metal dumbwaiter plummeting down to earth startles Tim into snapping his eyes open and letting out the breath he was holding, a panic attack successfully held at bay. His eyes flitter over to Dick and Jason, who are both sitting up straight and gazing intently at the dumbwaiter, like they're waiting for some sort of trap to spring out.

Tim readies himself. With the psycho they're dealing with, there's no way of telling what he's sending their way.

But the only thing that stumbles out of the dumbwaiter is a bruised and bloodied Damian, tripping and falling to the tile ground with a groan of pain, slowly crawling along in his torn Robin suit. His hands are shaking so hard it's a surprise he can get a grip on the floor at all.

Tim's eyes widen, his heart seeming to stop for a split second.

This is what their captors are capable of.

"Robin!" Dick shouts as loud as he dares, quickly dragging himself over to the injured boy despite the ropes that bind his feet. His face is twisted in horror as he nears Damian, gently reaching out for him, like he's scared of accidentally hurting him more than he's already been hurt.

Jason stays back, but his eyes are hard – stone-like. Angry. Tim only ever sees that look on his face right before he pulls the trigger on one of his many guns. The sheer intensity of the look scares him. No one should ever want to see that look directed at them.

"What the fuck did they do to you?" Jason growls, malice dripping from his words.

Damian raises his head, blearily looking at Dick by his side. His right eye is swollen nearly shut, a sickly shade of purple tinted red. The look on his face is far away, like he's detached himself from reality. Dick gently brings Damian's head over to his lap, setting it down and brushing the hair out of his face comfortingly.

Tim is frozen in his place, unable to comfort Damian even if he wanted to. The two aren't close. In fact, they're about as distanced from each other as two people can be. But seeing Damian like this, beaten and bloodied and more rattled than he's ever been…

It brings out a fiery brotherly instinct he never thought he had towards Damian. It's a strong, primal feeling that tells him to protect his brother at all costs. It's something he never knew he was capable of feeling towards Damian. Dick and Jason, sure, but never Damian.

Then again, he's never seen Damian in real danger before.

"D-Don' go up there…" Damian slurs, his head lolling to the side on Dick's lap. "'S not worth it…"

Tim scoots forward, examining Damian's injuries critically. Overall, he can't deny that it definitely doesn't look good. Damian's little body is covered in small, swift cuts, most of which seem to be deep. His right eye is swollen and a fresh bruise blooms on the cheekbone below it. His uniform is torn in several places, revealing bruises already forming underneath.

He's banged up pretty badly.

But not enough to cause such a reaction from him.

Their captors must have done something else on top of that.

"What did they do to you?" Tim blurts out, vocalizing what Dick and Jason are probably already thinking.

Damian turns his head, seeming to look _through _Tim rather than _at _him. It's unnerving enough to make Tim want to look away.

"You don' wanna know," he promises, his slurred voice barely above a mumble.

"_Listen to the Baby Bat, Little Bird."_

Tim tightens his jaw, his fists clenching at his sides.

That deep, condescending voice is the absolute last thing he wants to hear at this moment.

"What did you _do _to him, you sick bastard?" Jason barks, looking up at the ceiling intercom angrily, like he's staring straight into their captor's eyes. The anger radiates off of him in waves.

And as Tim is beginning to learn, it's contagious.

"_Shhhh," _the man shushes in a condescending tone. _"It's a secret. Wouldn't want me to spoil the surprise for the Little Bird, would you?"_

Three pairs of eyes turn to stare at Tim.

Tim's eyes turn to stare up at the ceiling.

"What?" he asks, dumbfounded.

"_Step right up, Little Bird. You are the next contestant on 'The Price is Right'," _the kidnapper announces, his voice dripping with sarcasm. _"Be a good birdy like your brother and climb up into the dumbwaiter."_

Tim can _feel _Jason glaring at the back of his head, as if daring him to even _try _getting in that dumbwaiter. Dick is staring at him, giving him that stern, disapproving look of his that makes Tim swear he's looking at his father. But it's Damian's stare that gets him the most. His terrified cobalt blue eyes are practically pleading with him not to get into that dumbwaiter.

Damian knows what will happen to Tim if he complies.

"_What are you waiting for?" _their kidnapper asks, sounding slightly angrier at his command being ignored. _"Get in the dumbwaiter, boy."_

Gone is the mockingly sweet tone calling him 'Little Bird'. Their captor means business, and it's obvious to Tim that he does _not _like being ignored.

He knows that it would probably be easier to go quietly and not put up a fuss. There would be less of a chance of backlash aimed at him brothers, and his own punishment would probably be less severe.

But looking at how shaken Damian was when he came back, the terrified, almost feral look in his eyes…

Tim knows it isn't worth it.

"No."

Screw doing things the easy way.

"_Excuse me, but I don't think I heard you correctly," _the kidnapper drawls in deathly calm voice. _"It almost sounded like you told me 'no'. And I know I _must _have heard you wrong because you would never put your brothers at risk by refusing to follow my instructions, _right_?"_

Okay, maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Tim opens his mouth to tell the man that he's changed his mind in an attempt to save his brothers, but Jason interjects for him.

"No fucking way is he letting you do _anything _to him!"

Tim glares at him, mentally willing him to keep his mouth shut so he doesn't get himself killed. He can't save him if he's going to continue to provoke their kidnapper.

Their captor just laughs that same demonic sounding chuckle, making Tim's blood run cold. He makes the Joker's laugh sound like a polite giggle.

"_Oh, Hood. You just put the final nail in your brother's coffin."_

Tim's eyes automatically flick over to the hole in the wall across from him.

The barrel of a gun is staring right back at him.

His survival instincts scream at him to move his body out of the way, but the problem solving part of his brain knows that this will be of no use. There's a hole in each of the 4 walls surrounding them. No matter where he moves, one of them will have a clear shot of him. There's no use in moving out of the way.

At least where he is now, there's no chance one of his brothers will be hit.

"_And I thought you were the smart one, Little Bird. Such a disappointment."_

Tim closes his eyes, preparing himself for the bullet to rip through his brain and kill him instantly. He expects to feel more. Anger, sadness, regret, grief, fear. But he doesn't feel any of that. He feels… nothing.

He hears the crack of the gun shooting off and jumps in his spot.

It takes Tim only a few seconds to realize that he wasn't the one who took that shot.

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><p><strong>AN: I'd like to thank you all for the feedback I've gotten so far. It's all been lovely! And as for your questions on what they did to Damian... All I can say is, keep guessing.**


	5. Jason

**A/N: I know this is a short chapter, but a lot happens in it. Or, at least, _I _think. **

**A****s you can tell by the chapter name, Jason narrates this chapter, so that means a lot of swearing. Just a warning if that bothers you.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><em>133 hours<em>

'_Way to go, Todd,' _Jason thinks to himself as Nightwing rushes over to him and try to stem the blood flowing like a river from his right side.

'_You just had to be the hero. You couldn't have left things alone for once in your life. Dumbass.'_

He isn't sure exactly what he was thinking when he put himself in the way of that gun. It was an instinct, pure and simple. A stupid instinct. He just couldn't stop himself from launching his body into the line of fire.

He is such a dumbass.

"_Hm," _the voice Jason has come to despise muses. _"I thought it would be Big Bird that took a bullet for the little ones. I must have underestimated you, Hood. I guess you _do _care about your 'brothers'."_

Jason wishes he could snap back with a snarky remark, but he can't even manage to get a sound out. The pain chokes back his words, constricting his throat like a vice. When he attempts to say something scathing, the only thing that comes out is a pained squeaking noise that he's embarrassed could ever emanate from his mouth.

"Don't try to speak," Dick commands, pressing down on his wound using both hands. "Conserve your energy."

Jason wishes he had enough energy to glare up at the older man for telling him what to do. But the combination of the gunshot wound, the lack of food and water, and the exhaustion makes his energy level too low for even such a simple task. All he can do is lay back and let Dick try to stop the blood flow while the Replacement is still trying to gather his wits and the Demon is just staring at the entire scene unfolding with a blank, checked out expression on his face, completely divorced from reality.

The two youngest birds are completely useless at the moment.

So Jason just keeps his gaze locked on the Golden Boy, focusing on keeping his breathing steady. Each breath he takes in makes his abdomen area ache like it's being licked by flames that are making a tortuously slow crawl towards his lungs. Right now it seems like the easiest thing to do would be to stop breathing completely and let nature take its course.

But Jason Todd has never been a quitter, and he's not about to start now. He'll live to tell this story later.

And he'll live to kill the bastard who dared to fuck with him.

"Oh my god," Tim finally chokes out, seemingly recovered from his temporary state of shock. "Jason, I'm so sorry, I should have taken that shot instead. It was meant for me. I'm so –,"

"Shut up," Jason croaks. Tim stops babbling like an idiot and nods vigorously, scooting closer to help Dick stem the bleeding. Jason groans at the stinging sensation that comes from another hand being placed on his wound. The extra hand doesn't do much good. None of the hands do much good. He's still losing blood.

"We have to remove the bullet and sterilize the wound," Dick declares. "And we have to do it soon."

Jason rolls his eyes.

'_Well no shit, Golden Boy,' _he thinks. _'But there's the little issue of having absolutely no supplies that would be needed to take the fucking bullet out of my body."_

If only he could work up the energy to actually say that out loud.

"But how?" Tim asks, his voice choked with panic. "I mean, I could try to improvise with just the things we have on us, but it would be messy and potentially even more dangerous than just leaving the bullet alone."

Dick sighs, shutting his eyes tightly and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He's never looked older to Jason than he looks right now, hunched over and with worry lines etched in his face. If he squints, he can swear he sees gray hairs sprouting at his temples.

Or maybe that's just delusions from the gunshot wound talking. It would be impossible to tell.

Jason's eyes sluggishly flit over to Damian. The kid seems more alert now, more engaged in his surroundings. He's quickly returning to normal, and Jason can already guess that when he's fully lucid, he's going to be pretending nothing ever happened. Like a mini-Bats.

"_I can help you remove that bullet, you know."_

Jason's initial reaction is to bark back a refusal, but he knows it would come out as a pitiful squeaking. He doesn't want to give that sick bastard the pleasure of hearing him in such a weak state.

"You've 'helped' enough," Dick hisses for him. For once in his life, Jason is grateful for the presence of the Golden Boy. He can be annoying and sometimes Jason just wants to bash his face in, but there's no questioning where his loyalty lies. He's dedicated to his broken little rag tag family.

"_Let me rephrase that," _the bastard drawls out. _"I can help the Hood help himself."_

The metal clanking of the improperly greased dumbwaiter slamming down to earth catches Jason's attention. He lifts his head as much as he possibly can in his state, ignoring the aching pain in his stomach at the action, and looks up at the little gift that has been left for him.

In the dumbwaiter sits a small rectangular tray.

Attempts to lift his head anymore to see inside the tray results in his vision darkening at the edges. He decides to lay his head back down so he doesn't black out.

Tim scoots over, grabbing the tray and setting it down on the ground to examine it. Jason can't see into the tray, but he can see Tim's eyes widen almost imperceptibly when he sees what's inside.

"Supplies to take the bullet out," Tim announces. "Tweezers, a scalpel, disinfectant, cotton balls, a needle and thread, gauze and bandages, even a small iron to cauterize the wound afterwards if need be. We have everything we need."

Jason lets himself sigh in relief, though the action hurts him. He's not entirely sure if a crude surgery will suffice for too long, but it's a start. He'll get medical attention after they get out of this hell. For now, he's just going to have to let the Replacement cut him open and hope that he picked up _something _from watching Alfred patch them up all these years.

As soon as Tim picks up the disinfectant, the click of a gun being cocked echoes throughout the room.

"_Uh-uh-uh, Little Bird," _their kidnapper teases over the intercom. _"_You _are not removing that bullet."_

Dumbfounded, Tim slowly hands the disinfect over to Dick.

"_Neither is the Big Bird," _he corrects as soon as Dick gets ahold of the bottle.

Jason, Dick, and Tim all lock eyes, looking back and forth to each other for answers. So if it's not Dick, and it's not Tim…

Slowly, their gazes land on Damian, who sits in the corner seeming as confused and fearful as the rest of them and looking at the disinfectant in Dick's hands like it is going to jump out and eat him at any second.

Oh no, Jason is _not _letting the Demon near him with a sharp object. He wouldn't trust him to perform surgery on a good day, much less in the zombie-like state he's currently in.

Dick drags the tray over towards him, giving a glare directed towards the ceiling.

"We're not letting Robin –,"

"_Who said anything about letting the Baby Bat do it?"_

In that moment, Jason finally knows where this is going. He wishes to every deity he can think of that he's incorrect. Every single inch of his abdomen aches and he's getting weaker by the second. His death certificate has already been signed.

"_I want the Hood to take the bullet out himself."_

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><p><strong>AN: Enjoyed this chapter? Then leave me a review and tell me what you liked about it! I love hearing from you guys!**


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